The demise of Tattoo Face.

Updates:

Remember the lady that locked her kid in the car last week that Celestia yelled at? Well, we got a call from the Sheriff’s department yesterday, and someone did call and report that woman, and because she admitted that she did it “all the time,” Celestia and I may have to go to some hearing about it. The manager at the store we were shopping at knows us, and gave them the number to our office. God, I hope some judge rips that woman a new asshole.

Sunday, when I walking Wolf to his car, there was a police car in front of the house next door, and Tattoo Face was being taken away in handcuffs. I find it shocking that someone who tattoos his face might do something to get himself thrown in jail.

Ah, ghetto life.

It’s funny, because the night before, Wolf jokingly asked if his car (which is nice) was going to be ok overnight parked on the street.

“Of course it will… my neighborhood is just run down, but nothing bad ever really happens.”

Then the next day he walks out and my neighbor is getting carted off by the cops. Yeah, he should be in a hurry to come back after that. I tried to tell him that my neighbors don’t steal cars like 200 ZX’s, but I don’t think he was buying it.

We’ll see.

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I have had many google hits for “naked Andria.”

There’s no naked Andria here.

Move on.

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Jenna’s entry about the Kentucky Derby and mint juleps reminded me of my own run-in with the deceptive cocktail when I was in North Carolina visiting family a few years ago.

I had always heard people ordering them, but never had one, so I decided when in the south, you must do as the southerners do. Assuming it was a sweet, lady-like girly drink, I ordered one.

WRONG.

I think what I had was a glass of bourbon with a sprig of mint in it for decoration. It was strong. I didn’t want to drink it, but my one of my idiot cousins made some crack about my “California umbrella drinks,” and that I might not be able to hang. As much as I despise all things scotch, whiskey, or bourbon, I like to rub shit in peoples’ faces more, so I drank it. Fast.

It didn’t take long before I was completely drunk, and jokingly suggested to one of my many racist family members, “hey, let’s go scare some black kids!”

He thought I was serious, and was ready to go.

Then I started joking that he was hot, in a “mutually-shared DNA kind of way,” and that hooking up with my cousin was a fantasy of mine.

This also did not surprise him.

How am I related to these people?

Thank god there is an entire country in between us.

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The new Weezer record kicks ass.